hortus conclusus

  Radioactive violet/orris topnotes with an incense base that reminds me (unsurprisingly) of Comme des Gar ç ons’ incense line—a resinous smoky frankincense with a ground of patchouli. There’s a greenness too that rides the middle of the scent, a grassy powdery vetiver. This is harmonious, sophisticated, and olfactorily challenging perfumery; indeed, it’s what one would expect from this house. As it dries down, a peppery woody accord emerges from the violet smoke. This is one of those fragrances that evokes a color, or even a color palette, in my mind. I see green, violet, of course, and a shimmering, opalescent gray! It strikes me as very French, very fin de siècle. It is the color of Nancy, the home of French Art Nouveau. The glasswork of that town was famous for its emulation of nature, and I’d say the kind of nature that decays, and subsides into the earth. Consider this vase, for example. And this bed: The bed is a gorgeous memento mori: the moth is born and flies into the...

I’m reposting one of my very early posts today! At the party this weekend, my friend Julie suggested I smell her husband, Kurt. Now I don't usually get invitations from wives to inhale the deep manly scents of their husbands (LOL) so of course I could not refuse! Also, these two are not fragrance mavens and I was surprised Kurt would wear anything at all, since he is so involved in his main hobby, cooking, and I imagined he wouldn't want anything to get between him and the smells he conjures from the pan. I was not surprised, therefore, to discover this fragrance to have a gourmand edge; the first thing that hit my nose was an accord of herbs and pepper, softened with lavender--perfect for my gourmet friend. I asked what it was, and was delighted to hear it was L'occitan PH ; I tend to love l'occitane products, partly from good experiences with them (one of my husband's signature scents is Cade ) and partly from nostalgia, since it was in a l'occit...

Looking at these images of people from many different historical periods interacting with scent makes me think about the ways in which thinking about people of the past smelling things makes their lives seem somehow more real, but at the same time, it makes them seem more exotic.    For example if we were to smell the contents of that Egyptian pot, I’m sure we would feel at home, comforted by the recognizable smells of frankincense, lotus, or rose.  But also, the figures’ attitudes, their ritualistic poses, their very alien appearance, makes the content of that pot seem somehow untouchable, distant. A few Centuries Later…. we can imagine how that swag of citrus and laurel behind this religious tableau smells. We can even imagine the sweet musty smell of Mary Magdalene’s perfumed hair interacting with Jesus’ dirty, sweaty feet.  but we are also distanced by the exotic foreignness of the characters’ gestures, by the knowledge of this as a foundational myth, a...

I have been thinking about the fact that for most people, drying hair and clothing is one of the most intimate fragrance experiences they have in any given week. Looking at this painting by John Sloan, I can almost imagine all the different smells—the soapy clean musk of the laundry, the animalic smell of human hair, the perfume from the shampoo, the smell of sweat, the hot asphalt, the myriad city smells of exhaust, heat, sewer, food, etc. The act of drying one’s hair is such a special, human thing, such an affirmation of femininity… Consider the beautiful image of women throwing their hair up to dry it in Robert Frost’s “Birches”: When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many...

I don’t know about you guys, but I sometimes get confused about the differences between all the different resins out there used in pefumery. So I compiled a gallery, so I could remember a little better…. MYRRH Somali man collecting myrrh. from “Beautiful Somalia”, by the Somalia Ministry of Information and National Guidance. found in Yemen, Somalia, Ethiopia 100g of Myrrh resin from the Dhofar region of Oman, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons FRANKINCENSE/OLIBANUM Frankincense trees taken by Eckhard Pecher Found in Oman, Yemen, and Somalia, Bag of frankincense at Dubai spice souk, taken by Liz Lawley . LABDANUM rockrose, or Ci stus ladanifer, courtesy Wikimedia Commons found in the Mediterranean, generally. image f rom incense wiki, uploaded by en:User:Sjschen , PERU BALSAM, ALSO KNOWN AS TOLU tolu is found in Central and South AMerica. from Franz Eugen Köhler, Köhler's Medizinal-Pflanzen . AMBER Wood resin, source of amber. Phot...

For your viewing pleasure--or displeasure, as the case may be-- a gallery of beasties traditionally used to produce perfume civet cat, for civet. from Lloyd's Natural History: "A hand-book to the Carnivora. Part 1, Cats, civets, and mungoose", uploaded to Wiki Commons [1] by Richard Lydekker Sperm Whale, for ambergris. Sperm whale and Bottlenose whale by Archibald Thorburn Musk deer (and other musk-producers) for musk. William Daniell, “Musk Deer, And Birds Of Paradise”, courtesy of artrenewal.org Beaver, for castor. “North American Beaver (Castor canadensis)”, Painting by John James Audubon, 1854, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

in the darker, more atavistic versions of Sleeping Beauty, the dormant castle is surrounded by an impenetrable wall of rose briars, with gigantic thorns that impale the hapless princes who try to push through to the interior in which the lovely princess lies in her enchanted coma. The princes’ bodies hang on that monstrous rose hedge, decomposing until they are naught but skeletons. This image haunted me when I was young, as it still does now, being one of the most disturbing of a a whole series of folktales which emphasize not only the rose’s beauty, but also its danger—for below the smooth silk-plush blossoms, like spikes and thorns, jagged leaves, and pain. This is one of the reasons I believe the rose makes such a perfect symbol for love—a thing of great beauty as well as undeniable pain. Dyptique’s l’ombre dans l’eau captures this dark green danger of the rose, I believe. It is not as menacing as a wall of gigantic malignant thorns, but it does explore the stems and leaves a...

I think this painting speaks for itself…. what do you all think? ''' Allegory of Sight and Smell''' by Jan Brueghel the Elder (1568–1625), currently in the Prado.

Hi all! I am working on the second installment of my medieval perfume story, trying to finish a draft of a dissertation chapter by Friday, teaching 3 hours a day, grading papers and finals for the super-intensive medical history class I have been TA-ing for the past three weeks, and frantically preparing for our upcoming anniversary voyage to Morocco and Spain (starting Saturday) so today’s post will be regrettably short. Luckily, you are all probably familiar with the lovely Eau d’Hadrien , so I needn’t go into great detail, only present my impressions of it. It really is lovely is Eau d’Hadrien ; its nose-tingling lemon zest—yes, a little like a lemon drop—reminds me of my trips to see concerts with my mother. She’d always buy me lemon drops at the orchestra hall,  although she was fundamentally opposed to ‘store-bought’ sweets. That was the only time I was allowed to ‘buy candy’, and so the flavor of those lemon drops always reminds me of our happy and frequent visits to the...

I’m trying something a little different for the Scents of the Mediterranean Blogfest—in honor of Ines, who, I know, loves fiction, I have written a little story about the perfume trade in the Mediterranean in the 13 th century… Let me know what you think. Thanks to Ines of “All I am-a Redhead” and Elena of “Perfume Shrine” for organizing this fun party! The sun—God’s candle, some call it—shines on a busy scene in the 13 th century northern Mediterranean port city. Ships pull close to shore, and a multiethnic population of sailors, merchants, and dogsbodies energetically heave large chests out of the wooden ships’ great bellies. You can almost imagine the laden ships breathing a sigh of relief as their month-long indigestion is suddenly, finally cured. “Finally, that sharp point in my belly on the left side has eased off” your imaginary sentient ship declares to the larger more gruff neighbor to the west in the bay. You laugh indulgently at your private flight of fancy, a moment o...

5 years ago today, I married my husband, at my family’s cabin in Red Lodge Montana. I know you may all be tired of hearing me ramble on this week about our anniversary, but the 5-year mark has me thinking a lot about that day. It was a very homemade wedding—family members, friends, and I made all the food; my mother, mother-in-law, and I sewed the wedding dress, and a large contingent of friends arrived at our cabin about a week early to help decorate the place.   I loaded up my old station wagon with flowers, and we spent the day before the wedding making bouquets and corsages, among sundry other things….I will never forget the way my car smelled as  I drove up into the mountains. In the evenings, the intrepid wedding party relaxed from their labors with a hookah and some drinks down by the creek (I therefore always associate the sweet smell of hookah tobacco with my wedding. Go figure) And of course, I was a bit preoccupied and nervous about the big ...